Luigi scrolled through the list of contacts on his phone until he found
Colin’s number.
“Hi, Colin! How are you? It’s Luigi.
Cody’s”—he hesitated for an instant—“lover.” That’s
what I am, he thought, even if I am
also his friend.
“I was wondering about how he was.”
“Things are tough, Colin.” Luigi
didn’t want to go into details, not with Cody listening.
“Yeah.”
“Colin, Cody thinks he’s seen the killer.
We took some photos of the car and we have the number plate.”
“Did a detective talk to Cody?”
“Yes,” said Luigi, “but, well, we don’t trust them. We trust you.
And anyway, maybe Cody was wrong
and then they wouldn’t listen to us if we were to see him again. So I thought we ought to let you know and
maybe you can tell us who owns that car.”
“Well, I can’t really. That’s
private information. But I tell you what
I will do. I’ll look it up and see who
it is and maybe go and have a shifty, see where he lives and works, that sort
of thing.”
“We should come with you.”
“Not a good idea. This is a police
matter. You’re … well, don’t want to be
rude, but … you’re amateurs.”
“He’s going to do it again,” said Luigi quietly.
“I know. So I’m going to do some
research and then come into the city.
I’ll come and talk to you two about what you saw.”
“Thank you,” said Luigi, realising it would be useless to argue.
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